On days that it seems nearly impossible to relax into the moment, to find that flow, to be present (those words everyone says are the key to long life and good relationships), we can still make small moments of joy and wonder. Two hours. Twenty minutes. Even if we feel stressed, even if it seems hard, even if the mood seem tenuous, about to crack, it can be something. These moments, which for us are usually a trip to the park or a walk around the neighborhood or a short hike (today's), are like small escapes into the present, leaving for a short while the anxieties about the past and worries about the future.
And these trips are not panaceas. Rarely do we emerged fully renewed and restored. Our faith in ourselves and in humanity is often still frail when we return. But when night falls, and we have brushed teeth and put on pajamas, when we are laying in bed next to our little ones, we have the sense that the day was not a total loss. We salvaged something together. Our memories made together are real: hand holding, side-stepping puddles, climbing rocks, and watching sunlit grasshoppers walk clumsily, slowly, in the cold.
My son Woody turned six in November of 2011. That would have been the kindergarten year for most kids, 180 days that mark the beginning of the school career. But Woody did his learning in the big, wide, beautiful world, without school being a part of it.
I'm Teresa Honey, and I kept this blog to document this time in my son's life, to share pictures and stories with far-away friends and relatives, and to add ours to the many stories of families living rich, engaging, loving lives with learning happening all the time and in many forms, totally inseparable from every other part of being human.
Here you'll find 180 or so learning moments recorded from August, 2011 to April, 2012 in the life of a 5-turned-6-year-old radically unschooled kid.